


Hues

by womeninthesequel



Series: Saturated [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Colors, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Next Generation, Mutual Pining, Soulmates, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womeninthesequel/pseuds/womeninthesequel
Summary: Teddy Lupin is pretty sure he’s always been able to see color.
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/Victoire Weasley
Series: Saturated [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724842
Comments: 28
Kudos: 93





	Hues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagicGirlinAMuggleWorld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicGirlinAMuggleWorld/gifts).



> This started as a little idea in response to @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world asking for a fic about "Teddy realizing he's in love with Vic pls"... Now it's this. 
> 
> While it can definitely stand on its own as a story, I hope everyone likes the chance to see Teddy's view of things in the world of Saturated, another fic of mine. Let me know what you think!

Teddy Lupin is pretty sure he’s always been able to see color.

The sky has always been _blue_ on a clear, sunny day or _gray_ when storm clouds roll into the scenery. When it starts to set, it turns the whole countryside into a gradient of _orange_ and _butterscotch_ and _wine_. The night sky is twisting shades of _lavender_ and _cobalt_ with glittering specks of light. His eyes can’t help but catch the _white_ or sometimes even _yellow_ glow of the moon and the _silver_ cast it gives his skin when he sits by the window to think.

His grandmother, bold and brave and not afraid to give anyone a piece of her mind, has threads of _silver_ in her hair, though most of it is still _chestnut_. Even in the summer, even when it’s hot enough to make Teddy too lazy to want to do anything, she wears dark robes. She makes a point of wearing _black_ on May second. On other days, her laugh twinkles like bells when it takes her by surprise, and her _brown_ eyes are always kind. 

While others recognize him by his scar, Teddy knows his godfather from a young age by the way his _green_ eyes soften as soon as he sees his godson. The whole Potter family is an explosion of color. James is characterized by the _scarlet_ he demands to wear before he can realistically know everything it means. From the moment he’s born, Albus’s eyes match the exact colorof his father’s and Teddy can’t help but notice. When it grows back after losing it as a baby, Lily’s hair is _red_ like her mother’s, but there are also accents of _blonde_ and even _caramel._

Photographs don’t show colors perfectly, but Teddy can still see them. In quiet moments, when he’s alone with a box of memories that aren’t his, Teddy closes his eyes and changes the _turquoise_ people know him for into a dark _tawny_ like his dad. He keeps his eyes _hazel_ like the pictures where his mother is small enough to make his grandfather lift her onto his shoulders. The colors make him feel connected and loved, even if they aren’t there to show it.

If there was a time when he couldn’t see hues, he certainly doesn’t remember it. 

There’s no big moment in his life where everything looked different. There is no before and after that he can identify. He doesn’t have his godfather’s story of seeing a burst of color right before he went through the wall between platforms nine and ten at King’s Cross on September first. 

Or Ginny’s story of going to the train station a year before she could go to school herself to see off her brothers and coming back with the rainbow. 

Or his grandmother’s story of panicked breaths and fearful tears when the first colors she saw were Hufflepuff’s _yellow_ and _black_ on her first full day out of her family home.

His earliest memories, when he strains to remember them, aren’t perfect storylines or single, shining moments. They aren’t sketched out like pictures in his favorite fairy tales. Mostly, they are flashing moments, tufts of _blonde_ hair, and _blue_ eyes.

They’ve always been in color.

Though it probably should, if the rumors about seeing color have anything to say about it, this piece doesn’t really bother him. As a kid, he’s too busy daydreaming about Hogwarts houses and asking everyone who knew them what his parents were like. He doesn’t spend extensive time thinking about what the colors mean or why he can see them and others can’t. 

It’s a fact of his existence. It’s like any other piece of him. Teddy lives with his Gran, spends far too much time at his godfather’s house, changes his hair on a whim, loves coming up with games for the kids to play, gets into a little trouble every now and then.

And he sees color.

One day, he decides to tell Gran, but she doesn’t make a big deal of it or start an interrogation into its meaning. While they’re at the kitchen table, discussing what kind of cake they should make to surprise Molly Weasley on her birthday, he brings it up.

“I think I can see color?”

Like anything he’s unsure of, Teddy leaves it open as a question. His grandmother never picks on his attempts to learn or try something new. She’s always said that it’s a part of him that’s so like his mother. Both of them couldn’t stand to let someone else find the answer if they asked the question. They had to find it themselves. 

Andromeda nods, though her quill stops moving over their shopping list. “What color is your hair, Teddy?” she asks softly after a few seconds of consideration.

Teddy’s nose crinkles as he looks up and tries to see the ends of his fringe on his forehead. His grandmother laughs out loud when he lets out an annoyed sigh and grows his hair long enough to cover his eyes. 

“ _Purple_ ,” he answers, shaking the newly lengthened locks so he can see again. “Maybe _violet_?” 

“Very good.” Without another moment of hesitation, Gran adds, “And what color should we make Molly’s cake?” 

Sometimes, like this moment, his heart is about to burst with love for his grandmother. She knows exactly how to handle things.

He isn’t sure if she tells anyone else. Regardless, even if they know or somehow guess for themselves, they never make him feel uncomfortable or point it out in front of other people. It’s a small thing that can stay between him and Gran. Soulmates and colors and everything that goes with them are supposed to be personal.

Even without anyone else knowing it about him, color is so connected to Teddy by the people who love him. 

When Teddy’s too young to be sorted himself, Harry buys him sweaters in _scarlet_ and _gold_ but also _yellow_ and _black._ His godfather understands some of what it’s like. Not knowing what would make his parents proud. Not knowing how to balance living in their shadow and making a path for himself. 

Harry understands that Teddy wants to be brave like his mother and loyal like his father, even if that’s not what their houses would suggest about them. He tells him that the Sorting Hat will take his choice into account and doesn’t pressure him toward one house over the other. He makes sure that Hufflepuffs are always as welcome as Gryffindors in the Potter house.

Ginny is always sure to pack an extra Holyhead Harpies jersey for him when he joins their family trips. When he shows up at their house, streaks of paint across his cheeks, she grins and throws the jersey to him. Before they leave for the game, Ginny gives him a high five when he changes his hair to _green_ and _gold_ to match the Harpies’ colors. 

When she’s still playing for the team, he’s proud to scream in the stands, along with Harry, and have WEASLEY and then POTTER embossed in _gold_ across his back. By the time Ginny retires, Teddy has about a dozen Harpies jerseys in his closet, but she always has a new one for him when her kids get theirs. With her sideline access, the shoulders get covered with scrawls and signatures so he can remember nearly every game by the jersey. 

Right before they leave, Teddy squeezes in between James and Albus in the backseat of the car his godfather learned to drive. It keeps them from bickering and lets him feel infinitely older by comparison. Lily always asks to sit on his lap, but she is always told that she has to ride in the booster seat. Teddy offers her a compromise by being the old to hook the buckle.

Fleur, Victoire’s mother, coos over his hair choices when he visits. She takes special care to compliment the colors of the flowers he gives her when he asks to crash their dinner plans. Maybe it’s her way of explaining what she thinks he might be missing, but Teddy has a sneaking suspicion that she knows more than most. 

After all, Fleur Delacour dove into that infamous maze of horrors only moments after seeing color for the first time. 

Victoire, usually anxious and opinionated, goes quiet when her mother talks about the flowers or his hair. She’ll look out the window or wander into another room until she thinks they’re done. If it goes on too long, she asks if she and Teddy can play at the beach until dinner’s ready. With any positive answer, she takes his hand and pulls him out of the cottage.

They splash in the _gray_ waves when it isn’t too cold. They collect _cream_ seashells and try to build castles out of _tan_ sand. Victoire learns how to weave crowns out of the _white_ and _yellow_ daisies lining the path so they can wear them like royalty. She plucks _dusty pink_ sea roses to tuck behind her ear. 

She doesn’t mention color.

When he’s eleven, a heavy envelope arrives on the kitchen table for him. The mottled _gray_ and _brown_ owl lands for only a few seconds before taking off again. Teddy watches it disappear into the sky before he lets himself open the letter addressed to ‘Edward Lupin.’ He keeps the _scarlet_ wax seal intact, even while his fingers shake with excitement. 

Hogwarts is a riot of color. The Great Hall is draped in pennants and decorations of _scarlet_ , _emerald_ , _yellow,_ and _navy_. Despite seeing color for years, it’s still a little overwhelming. There are people and colors everywhere.

After the Sorting Hat makes its decision, _yellow_ and _black_ cling to him like a love letter from his mother. He flops back on his bed that first night to stare at the curtains around his four-poster bed. Before he goes to sleep, he writes a letter to Gran in _black_ ink so she knows where he ended up and how everything went.

The walls are heavy stone in variations of _slate_ and _earth_. He notices all of the minor color differences and tries to trace them with his finger. A few times, he runs into class right before being late because he gets distracted by trying to find the secrets of the castle. Thanks to a combination of his father’s map and the subtle changes, Teddy manages to find a secret passage in his first year. He studies the map and tries to determine how to add his piece to it.

Potions produce steam in hundreds of colors, _translucent_ shades of every kind that swirl around his head. Each spell has its own hue that reflects in the eyes of the caster. He finds that he has a slight advantage in dueling, since he has an extra second to assess what is coming toward him before he casts a shield. 

When Victoire follows him to school, _navy_ and _bronze_ trail her. She’s suited to them. From the way she always carries a book in her bag, to her ability to remember something after hearing or reading it only once. She’s always been the one to tug on his hand and make them learn something new. Teddy is independently interested in learning things that specifically appeal to him, but Victoire wants to know everything.

The deep _blue_ of her ties and faded, nearly _indigo_ of her scarves bring out the colors in her eyes. Others might, if they could see colors, call them _blue_ , but Teddy knows that they’re also _gray_ and even _green_ in different lights. The shades change when she’s happy or sad, thrilled or bored.

When she makes the Quidditch team, her crisp robes match the darkening shade of her eyes. In the first Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw game of that season, she faces him on the _clover_ pitch, looking unafraid and powerful. He winks and she sticks out her tongue.

Teddy wishes seeing color was a little more common so Victoire could understand how it works. It’s strange to have something that he can’t share with her. Two years of Hogwarts were bad enough. He doesn’t want to wait a lifetime to share this.

Sometimes, though, he swears that Victoire notices when his eyes shift shades. Her gaze lingers for a beat. Short enough that he can’t be sure, but long enough to make him wonder. 

“What?”

“What?” Victoire echoes.

“You’re staring.” Teddy flicks her knee and makes a face. “What is it?”

“I’m not staring.” Victoire looks down and nudges him absently with her foot. “But if I was, it would be because of that spot on your face.”

Teddy puts a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “I don’t have _spots_ , Weasley.”

“Freckles, then,” she allows. She wrinkles her nose, which is dusted with freckles, in exaggerated thought. “Oh wait, no. That’s me. It’s definitely a spot.”

He shoves her but also challenges her to keeper-versus-chaser in the same breath. 

They spill into the backyard and bicker over who gets to ride the newest broom. Victoire wins, as she usually does. Teddy thinks it has something to do with the experience of being the oldest sibling. After a few hours of flying and getting mud all over their clothes from trying too many dives, the whole conversation is forgotten. 

A few times, though, especially as they get older, he makes excuses to go to the bathroom so he can study his eyes in the mirror. He looks at them from all angles, trying to imagine what they would look like without the ability to see color. One time, after an extended look from Victoire, he sees the beginnings of faded _pink_ around the outside of his irises. 

Together, they watch her cousins come to school and find their houses in splashes of - mostly - _red_. Well, at least, he sees the _scarlet_ edging on their robes. From her spot at the Ravenclaw table, Victoire claps loudly when any of them come out from under the Sorting Hat with an expression of relief. 

What eleven year old enjoys the eyes of everyone in the Great Hall on them?

School is a collage of fresh _green_ Quidditch fields, quickly cast _red_ stunning spells, a shining _gold_ prefect’s badge, and, always, the hem of Victoire’s _black_ robes snapping around her heels when she nearly skips to keep up with his longer strides. 

Every new lesson - except the ones with Professor Binns, because that ghost can’t manage to make anything interesting - introduces a new color palette to Teddy’s view of the world. He tries to replicate some of them in the mirror, though he doesn’t know who to ask for a second opinion.

Professor McGonagall, dressed impeccably in her _emerald_ robes, slips him a photograph over breakfast one morning. The note with it says in elegant script that she found it in some of Dumbledore’s old things in the headmaster’s office. 

That night, Teddy skips Quidditch practice to have some time alone in his dormitory and see if he can match his hair to the _bubblegum_ the young witch in the photo is sporting.

Having a best friend from childhood who goes to school with him means having a constant partner in crime. As long as it’s not during class time. 

As a bonus, she also has special access to products not available to the public. Although their grades might suggest otherwise, they never pass up the chance to cause a little mischief. 

“Shh!” Victoire insists. 

Teddy swears that her trying to make him be quiet is louder than anything he was doing. “It’s fine,” he whispers back. “Get under here.”

“I am!”

Shuffling footsteps make their way down the corridor toward them.

“Now, Vicky!”

Quickly, Teddy pulls her closer to him and the wall. Her back is to his front, and his arm is looped around her side. Her _golden_ hair tickles his nose with a soft floral scent. Their new position presses them into a smaller space, since the cloak is really only designed to hide one person. Victoire’s grown several inches in the past year, so they don’t fit quite like they did last year.

With her so close to him, it’s difficult to think of anything else. The new inches of height, he can’t help but think, don’t completely explain that extra patch of _cream_ and slightly _tanned_ skin at the hem of her uniform skirt. He couldn’t help but notice how it appeared as soon as she was out of sight of her father on the Hogwarts Express that September. With her body against his, Teddy feels the layer of fabric around her hips that gives away her secret.

She’s taken to rolling her skirt.

“Who’s there?” Filch calls from the end of the hall, his _umber_ and _cinnamon_ cat pacing between his feet. He takes a few slow steps until a crack at the end of the hall sets him running toward the noise. “You can’t get away!”

Victoire shoves a hand over her mouth, but Teddy can feel her shaking with laughter. He can imagine the flicker of _silver_ in her eyes when she can’t stop laughing without being in the proper position to see it. 

There’s another loud sound, and the hall explodes into a burst of _magenta_. She didn’t know exactly what they would do, but they’re not disappointing. The present came in a morning care package from her uncle. The prototypes were unhelpfully but joyfully labeled for use by ‘those who solemnly swear they’re up to no good.’

From a safe distance, they barely breathe so they can stay to watch the show. A prank isn’t much fun if they aren’t around to see the results. 

Filch sputters when the smoke increases as he tries to wave it away. It switches to a lighter _lilac_ and starts to float down the corridor like a spreading fog. The caretaker brandishes his broom uselessly, yet it starts to fade into an innocuous _cyan_.

When he starts to grin like he’s cracked the code and begins to halt his efforts to contain it, the smoke doubles back and turns into a warning _lime green._

Teddy muffles his laughter against the back of Victoire’s neck.

In all of their adventures, he isn’t sure if she can see what he can. Some things, he knows. They have the same brand of humor and like all of the same dumb jokes. They both pretend not to laugh by looking away when Ron steals Lily’s nose. 

She’s one of the cleverest people he knows. She works hard, and she isn’t ashamed to brag when she thinks she’s done well. By her third year, Victoire finds a way to sneak into the Hufflepuff common room on her own and swipe the cloak from his locked trunk.

When he’s upset, she usually knows why and what to do without him having to say it. She sits beside him and prattles on about a book she finished when he doesn’t want to be alone. He tugs gently on her braid when she gets lost in thought and doesn’t tease her for daydreaming. They can sit in content silence with her head on his shoulder to watch the sky turn from _orange_ and _red_ to _black_ as night comes.

On a day that’s otherwise completely ordinary, his best friend confesses that she thinks she can see colors. 

All this time, Victoire held it as a secret. Her voice, now softened and quiet compared to her usually excited chatter, tells him that she is confessing something sacred. Without her needing to admit it, Teddy knows she hasn’t told anyone else.

He’s always willing to hold her secrets.

In her confession, he realizes that he’s also held this as a secret. It never felt like one, but that doesn’t make it less true. Teddy usually pushes this fact about him to the back of his mind. He may have mentioned it to his grandmother, but that wasn’t to seek any kind of answer or reason why. That was a childhood observation to the person he can go to for everything. 

He can change the shape of his nose and the texture of his hair, so why would seeing the colors of anything be that much more unusual?

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

“Vic,” he starts, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are wide. They’re a mix of _slate_ and _blue steel_ like the ocean in a storm. “I have a secret.” 

There’s no reason to be nervous, but his hands start to shake. He hopes that Victoire doesn’t notice. She usually has the sometimes annoying, sometimes helpful habit of seeing through him to the truth, but he wants to keep that at bay right now.

“I think I can see them too.”

Her eyes light up at this piece of news. Now they’re _sky blue_ like the weather on a clear day. Despite shaking hands and an urge to rub the back of his neck, telling this piece of him was worth it. It’s worth it if he can make her feel lighter.

He will do anything for Victoire. He doesn’t want her ever to feel alone.

Falling in love with Victoire Weasley doesn’t happen in a moment. Like seeing colors, he doesn’t have some picturesque memory of the second it happened. There isn’t a clear break between before and after. 

Like seeing colors, Teddy thinks he might have been loving Victoire for most of his life.

He wants to be with her - when she’s happy, when she’s sad, when she’s disappointed, when she’s excited, when she needs someone to cheer her up and make her smile.

When she’s a little drunk on the buzz from winning a Quidditch final and the half-gone bottle in her hand. 

As soon as she sees him from across the room, Victoire demands a dance. Teddy teases her, as he always does, but she has to know that his answer will always be yes when it comes to her. 

His hair is _canary_ and her robes are _navy_ , but she smiles at him like he’s the actual sun. Like she can see something about him that no one else can. He wonders - without asking - if the colors are brighter for her, like they are for him whenever she’s in the room. Dancing with her is like winning the Quidditch Cup for his own house.

“Anything for you, Vicky,” he says as he pulls her close enough to dance. 

He means it. That’s always been true.

Teddy can practically feel his eyes shifting to the soft _pink_ that fills his mind when she’s around. Her giggles are contagious, and he can’t stop smiling. Her hands are warm on his shoulders. He dares to pull her a little closer. The music picks up as he spins them like a princess and prince in a fairy tale story.

A few songs pass, but he doesn’t want to let her go. She presses herself closer to him, and Teddy lets himself think that she doesn’t want to let go either.

“Teddy,” Victoire says softly, “I have a secret.”

Another one.

Her cheeks are _blush_. There’s a charming slur that makes all of her words run together, _golden_ like syrup. The room behind her is a riot of _navy_ , but he can only see the _sapphire_ of her eyes.

She leans forward, and his arms are already at her waist to hold her steady. 

He tilts his head to make sure that he can see all of her expression. Her _honey_ hair, her _peachy_ skin, her _rose_ lips.

They’re not dancing anymore.

He doesn’t bother to maintain the illusion. He holds onto her and waits for whatever she’s going to say. They both stand in place, pressed together, and he can’t think about anyone else in the room.

“I think you make me see color.”

In the second after she says it, he doesn’t see her reaction to her own admission. He doesn’t note the exact color of her eyes. He doesn’t take the time to study an expression he knows nearly as well as his own. He doesn’t see color, he sees _Victoire._

Teddy leans down and kisses her.

The color that bursts behind his eyelids is brighter than anything. It’s _baby pink_ like the way she makes his heart beat faster in his chest. It’s flashing _yellow_ like his pride and the splash of color in his hair. It’s _red_ like the sweeping love stories his grandmother likes to watch on their small muggle television. 

It’s every shade and hue. It’s color. It’s everything. 

It’s Victoire. 

When they pull away, they don’t go far. He can’t imagine letting go. Teddy knows his eyes give him away, but he doesn’t care. Why should he? Victoire thinks he is her reason, and he knows she is his. 

“It’s always been you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @women-inthe-sequel!


End file.
